


Hypocoristic

by Carol989



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Jack being Jack, M/M, VP Rhys, Wall Sex, overused petnames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 02:26:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6355054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carol989/pseuds/Carol989
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of Jack's most notorious traits – besides the homicidal drive and huge ego – was his affection for petnames. And there was nothing random about them, oh, no. <br/>Rhys didn't even know if he was aware, but they have an obvious pattern according to his temperament. In six months Rhys had a mental list of all the petnames and situations they were used, and it saved his – and others' – ass more than he could recall. <br/>Sometimes though, sometimes Jack was still hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> here I am again writing a fic about those two idiots AND abusing petnames because I have zero self control and same.  
> WELP, I hope you guys enjoy :)

After working two years with Handsome freaking Jack and not being air locked – or worse – some things become easier. Things about Jack. For example, Rhys could say for sure that no matter how much he admired the CEO, he had come a long way from his fanboy days. Which is great, he wouldn't have survived so long without learning how to confront Jack's bullshit.

And, God, what a ton of bullshit. Daily. But that was another story.

Another crucial lesson was learning how to read Jack's moods. Kinda hard since the man wore a mask metaphorically too, but Rhys found his way around it. One of Jack's most notorious traits – besides the homicidal drive and huge ego – was his affection for petnames. And there was nothing random about them, oh, no.

Rhys didn't even know if Jack was aware, but his speech pattern changed according to his temperaments. No matter how hard he tried to cover up. In six months Rhys had a mental list of all the petnames and situations they were used, and it had saved his – and others' – ass more than he could recall.

But at the moment, Jack was gone. One of his famous business trips that always ended with Elpis' and Pandora's demographic slightly changed. Sometimes Hyperion's too. So when Rhys opened the office door he was just going to drop a handful of documents for when he was back. Jack wasn't supposed to be there, sitting on his desk, slumped forward and tipping frantically on his computer. The place was still dark saving from the screen light, shinning on his sand caked skin and was that... it was red, it was bloody and Rhys didn't want to know.

“What- Weren't you on Pandora?” Rhys already knew the answer.

Jack popped a 'yep' still focused on his task.

“Everything went fine, then? Nothing blowing up and such,” usually Jack was eager to describe – quite graphically – about his adventures on Pandora, but he only shrugged, taking a sip from his mug, “Did you even sleep before coming here or you just hopped off the shuttle?”

“Sleep is for the dead, kiddo,” he grumbled, stuffing a handful of those disgusting pretzels on his mouth.

More often than not, Rhys caught himself wondering how Handsome Jack was still alive. More often than not, Rhys caught himself herding Jack away from it because the guy was a gigantic, murderous child whose sense of self preservation had a problematic switch.

“Yeah, and you'll be joining them if you don't take a damn break,” Rhys approached the desk, dropping the files on the only clean spot.

Jack stopped, scowling at him, “You threatening me, Rhysie?”

Rhys only sighed, his doubts confirmed. No flamboyant petnames meant the man was tired, probably a pair of bags under his eyes to match. And if the way Jack's hands were shaking was indication, he had been running on caffeine and adrenaline for at least two days.

“I'm _asking_ you to go home,” he sidestepped the paranoia, it seemed to work “Seriously, you need to rest, Jack. You should be arriving tomorrow anyway, I'm sure Helios won't fall under me for more a couple of hours.”

“Awn, my cute VP is worried about me?” Jack stretched, an alarming amount of pops coming from his back. Rhys winced.

While at it, he picked the alarming amount of junky food packages and threw on the trash, eyeing the projects Jack was working on. Ah, yes, Hyperion's new big release that would put Jakobs out of business for once. Elemental turrets, Rhys was really proud of that one.

“Like you said, VP, not your PA,” he reminded the man, “If you could finally hire one, not give they a stress breakdown and stop being a pain in my ass, I would appreciate it.”

Jack wiggled his ridiculous eyebrows, “I can give your ass a lot more if you let me, Rhysie,” at Rhys unimpressed face Jack snorted, too exhausted to give his usual boisterous laugh, “Not my fault those wimps you send don't have any balls. They are fucking lucky I didn't airlock their asses.”

“Yeah, I'm sure Handsome Jack threatening to cut their heads off has nothing to do with that.”

He wasn't dignified with a response and Jack resumed tipping. Rhys might have more liberties with him than other people, but he was still not fond of pushing Jack. One never knew when you crossed the line, and the line changed every day. However, the last time he let Jack pull that marathon shit they had to replace half of the board, buy a new desk and the man almost lost a hand from carelessness.

Rhys would rather not let a drained Jack handle Hyperion again. Never.

“At least work at home so you can eat actual food,” also he was pretty sure Jack would shot the next person who opened the door, “Please, Jack,” the trick was to make the CEO feel as if he was making his own decision, or a favor. No wonder he had such a big office, his ego needed the extra space.

But it worked. Jack groaned in irritation and closed his programs, getting up and not even bothering to put his usual puff chested posture, “Whatever, anything to shut your whining, man. Jesus, how'd you get so high being this damn annoying. The vending machine is empty too so fuck it.”

Rhys followed him, “You should rest a little, later.”

“Yeah, yeah. Tell the R&D to hurry the fuck up, I want those turrets by the end of the week or I'll be testing it on them.”

“I will, by the way please take a bath too,” the 'you smell like skag shit' was left unsaid.

It was a confirmation of how tired Jack was that he didn't invite Rhys to join or tried to rub his dirty arms on him, “Sure, kiddo. I think there is still bandit brain on my hair,” he crinkled his nose in disgust, “Takes for-fucking-ever to wash it off. Those inbreeds can't even die right.”

“Gross,” he was not sure himself if he was talking about it or Jack. The man didn't seem to care though.

Rhys had learned used to the gore aspect of Jack's life. And personality. There was nothing he could do to change it and, frankly, it bothered him less than it should. As the months passed, Rhys stopped caring about all the blood unless it came from Jack himself. Luckily, after taking a good look, that wasn't the case.

“Also, I want your report today, Rhysie,” he yawned, “Those Jakobs dipshits won't know what hit 'em.”

“I just put it on your desk.”

Jack's eyes widened briefly, before giving a proud smile, “Atta boy,” he passed a heavy hand through Rhys' hair, making the VP stop on his tracks. Weird, Jack usually hated physical contact on that state. However, Rhys felt his face heat up a little, not caring he would certainly need to pick out sand and bandit's bits from his hair later.

Two years of incessant flirting and touching and he still couldn't shake himself off the effect Handsome Jack had on him. The fingers lingered for more than necessary while the man mumbled about Jakobs' dumbasses who thought they could mess with his Eridium mines. Yet, he had that look on his face, buried under too many sleepless nights. The kind of look that was becoming more frequent and Rhys couldn't pinpoint.

It made his nervous.

Rhys fought the urge of grab his tattooed wrist.

“I promise I won't let Hyperion blow up,” he joked after his heart normalized.

“You couldn't if you tried, kid.”

Rhys decided saying he was the second most powerful man on the station was not the smartest thing to do with an almost sleep walking Jack. He waved a goodbye and didn't try to fix his messed up hair.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, so maybe Hyperion didn't blow up, but Rhys almost did.

He always knew the risks that came from being the Vice President, he wasn't stupid. Being small on Helios made you disposable, being big put a target on your head. Between those two, Rhys preferred the one that let him forget about his problems in a huge bathtub, thank you very much.

Except the number of death threats he received on the last years was underwhelming. Funny enough Rhys could only remember two, both so poorly executed made him a bit offended – the guy tripped on a carpet for fucks sake. Jack still made him carry a gun everywhere though.

Smart, because the actual good, professional murder attempt caught him by surprise.

Rhys had just left his office, too busy thinking if he should check on Jack or just crash on his couch and order take out. The elevator was cramped with other employees, but being VP at least gave him the privilege of not being smashed. They all kept a respectful distance of Rhys, so used he didn't even raised his eyes from his ECHO. And, alright, he had to give himself a little credit because how the fuck would Rhys remember every fucking face on his floor?

Plus, he didn't make a habit of scanning every single person searching for imminent danger like _certain people_.

The elevator slowly emptied, until it was only Rhys and another guy going to the top floors. And that should've tipped him off. Would've, if he wasn't so distracted.

One way or another, there was not a lot of time to distribute guilt when the elevator stopped to a halt, lights flickering once before turning into the deep, emergency red. Here is the thing, elevators don't just stop on Hyperion. Rhys knew better than anyone that place ran like a well oiled machine thanks to Jack's paranoia.

He wasn't that shocked when an arm wrapped around his neck, ECHO falling on the floor. Rhys barely had time to worry about the painful pressure blocking his air when hard metal pressed against his back.

“Die Hyperion scum.”

Rhys was grateful bandits and assassins liked to gloat and give impact phrases so much. Gave him time to try and recall those self defense classes he had been forced into. Apparently a waste of time, Rhys couldn't remember shit.

_Hey buddy_ , his mind supplied with a voice too much like Jack's, _you have a freaking metal arm, ram th_ _at_ _motherfucker._

And he did.

His elbow hit the assassin's ribs with a muffled crack, and he faltered with a cry, giving Rhys enough time to free himself. A shot echoed through the elevator, hitting the wall, and he swore, scrambling to get away.

Rhys felt a little numb. A little panicked. And a lot like not dying.

“You sack of shit,” the man straightened his posture, no wonder he had mingled so well, his appearance had to be the blandest thing Rhys ever saw. But the fire in his eyes made clear that was not a normal power move, that was personal, “I'm going to pop your fucking head off.”

With adrenaline pumping his brain, Rhys couldn't understand exactly how it went down. The assassin raised his gun, Rhys did too. Palms sweaty, not wavering. There was another loud bang, reverberating so loud it hurt his ears. Another, and another. He didn't know who shot first, or who kept going, but as soon as it had started, it was over.

When time finally slowed down, Rhys tried to slow his breathing. He was curled against the corner, his gun still on a death grip. The man laid on the ground, brain splattered everywhere and more blood leaking from the other holes on his chest. Quickly, a pool formed below him, black on the red light.

Realization hit of what he had done and Rhys couldn't find a single drop of guilt on himself. Instead, there was a growing pleasure and a dark sense of vengeance. Still, he found himself unable to move.

Seconds – maybe minutes – passed until an unnerving friendly 'ping' brought the colors back and the elevator resumed his ascending.

“Fuck,” Rhys breathed, urging the tension to leave his body only to feel a sharp pain on his side. Okay, so the guy hadn't totally missed his shot judging by the stain of red on his shirt, “Fuuuuck.”

His ECHO choose that moment to beep. Rhys released the gun with shaky fingers and grabbed it, Jack appearing on the screen with big letters. Just what he needed.

Rhys accepted the call, “He-”

“What the fucking shit happened to you?” Jack roared, with the appearance of someone that had just woke up.”

“Uh, assassination attempt?” Rhys flinched, still trying to organize his thoughts. He moved just enough to press the button to the medical bay, the stretch made his side burn.

“That's what god damn security sa- Were you _hit_?”

“I'm not sure, I don't think so.”

“You are bleeding, dipshit” Jack pointed out, a sharp edge on his tone, “How in hell you manage to get yourself killed on my only day off?”

Rhys stared at his face dumbly. He knew that snarl, he knew that hurry, but Jack didn't seem angry at him. Not really. The lack of petnames to guide himself was a little alarming too and Rhys was not sure how to calm his temper, so he said, “I'm not dead.”

“I got that memo, idiot. If you were I was going to drag your ass from hell personally just to send you back again.”

Rhys tried to touch his wound, but it sent a jolt of pain and he gasped. On the ECHO, Jack stopped fussing for a moment, an unfamiliar glint on his eyes and Rhys had a crazy guess, “Are you worried?”

“Am I-” Jack growled, “Did he shot your brains outta your ears too? Because I fucking will when I find you.”

The next hour was a blur. Rhys was vaguely aware of being patched up – the bullet had only grazed – and maybe being asked a few questions by security. They gave him something to numb the pain and somehow he ended up on Handsome Jack's penthouse. He was still focused on the fact that one of the biggest maniacs of the galaxy was worried about him.

Live, Rhys saw he was finally clean, and looking a little more rested too. Jack stomped on his direction, rudely raising his robotic arm to check his bandaged side, “You were whimpering for _this_?”

“As I remember, you were the one freaking out,” Rhys freed himself, drugs not alleviating the soreness.

Jack ignored him, “Sit down and tell me what happened.”

Rhys did gladly, sinking on the fluffy couch with a sigh. For what had to be the third time that night, he repeated his short story – even though he was sure Jack must have heard it from security already. The man, for a change, didn't interrupt him. Jack listened, pacing around the living room with a heavy silence.

When he finished and the CEO turned around to go away, Rhys frowned, “Where are you going?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Jack's mask had no trace of a smile, “Daddy's about to have a very, very long night.”

“You going after the culprits now?” he couldn't say he was surprised. Rhys had to stop himself from saying security could handle it, he had a growing suspicion of the man's mood of the hour and it was not one he wanted to antagonize.

Jack didn't leave, he returned and grabbed Rhys' chin between his fingers. A dark gleam on his mismatched eyes.

“Honey, I'm going to do so much more than that,” the overly sweet petnames confirmed it for Rhys. Jack was pissed, cold-beheading-rampage pissed, “I'm sure I know who the fuck decided that was a good idea and oh, boy, I hope Jakobs doesn't needs those guys whole cuz I'm gonna make sure to mail one piece of them per day.”

Rhys mouths 'Jakobs?' in confusion, but he can't say it's an absurd idea. Made sense. That's why they didn't just send for Jack. Rhys was the one responsible for the elemental turrets project, that had been their last, desperate attempt of backlash before going out of business. A pang of misplaced pride hit him.

“First, I'll go slow, a hand here, a leg there, a dick, a tongue, I'll not even kill them because I'm _that_ nice of a guy,” the hand on his chin tightened, bringing him back to the present. If that was a year ago, Rhys would be shaking with fear, “Then, sugar, when they are waking up wondering 'Oh, what piece of human trash will Handsome Jack send us today to make me shit myself?' I'll be the bigger man,” he whispered.

Rhys felt his own breath hitch. He always knew there was something wrong with him, like there was with everybody who worked at Hyperion and managed to sleep at night. But getting turned on by Jack's poisonous words was new.

“I'll be the bigger man and send their son of a taint assassins back, alive. All nice with their Hyperion issued bloody stumps and a gift alongside too. I'll even let you pick the grenade I'm gonna shove up their asses, sweetheart. Maybe I'll put a cam on the box too, just so I can see their pathetic faces before it all blows to hell,” Rhys wished he could be disgusted, could shove Jack away, but he is entranced, “That tiny, little second before certain death where they think 'hey, maybe we shouldn't have messed with Handsome Jack's stuff, maybe that was a bad idea'. And then their guts are all over the place.”

Rhys barely has time to process the last part and Jack is letting him go. His grip had been the only thing anchoring him and with it's absence Rhys feels lightheaded. Jack is marching away again and Rhys knows better than try to ease his anger that time. A wrong, coil of pleasure on his chest at the fact that it's because of him.

Because violence is the only way Jack can handle worrying about someone and Rhys is weirdly okay with that. Flattered. He is so fucked up.

“You are staying here until I nip this bullshit in the bud,” Jack announced, door closing behind him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just so you guys now, this fic's doc on my computer is called 'sinning'

When Jack was amused – which was often –, he had a bigger range of petnames.

It took two nights and the man strolling into his office covered in blood from head to toe to subside his anger. In the end, it was really Jakobs fault. Jakobs and an interesting number of Hyperion snitches – Rhys almost felt sorry for them, they were in for the worst. He wasn't though, they tried to kill him so too bad.

Anyway.

Three days after the failed assassination, Jack was in a great mood. Actually talking with Rhys instead of just spitting info and threats directed to other people. As usual, he entered Rhys' office without announcement and propped himself against the desk with a Cheshire grin. Way happier than he should be.

“What?” Rhys sighed, letting go of his work. He braced himself for whatever was coming.

“Can't I pass by to check on my favorite VP? How that gash holding, cupcake?”

“It's alright, doesn't hurt anymore.”

“Think it's gonna leave you with a scar? I mean,” he snorted, “won't be anything to be proud of, but it's a start to make that pretty body of yours look awesome. At least you got some tats so, yeah, off to a good start if I say so.”

“You seriously came all the way here to mock possible scar?” Rhys raised his eyebrows.

Jack waved him off, “Always down to business, like that about you. So, during my last little, uh, treasure hunt I found some pretty interesting stuff. ”

“I really don't wanna hear about assassin's insides, Jack,” he grimaced. It wouldn't be a first.

“The security tapes,” the man continued ignoring him, “from the elevator. Now, don't get me wrong, kitten, always knew you had a bit of a violent streak on you, had to, to get this far. But I was assuming you had a super lucky shot at the bastard.”

Jack was uncomfortably close to Rhys' face, eyes dark. They flirted a lot – correction, Jack did, inappropriately – and it never led to anything, but that... that was different and made Rhys mouth dry. That look from days ago was back with full strength and he was glad he was sitting down.

“Well, he shot me first,” Rhys added with a weak voice.

Jack laughed at that, “Oh, pumpkin, but you wrecked him. Holy shit there are still pieces of the guy on the elevator. I had to rewatch it once, twice cuz I was pretty sure I was seeing things,” a heavy hand settled on his neck, thumb brushing against his pulse point, “But there were you, turning his brains into mush and here you are now, wide eyed and with this dumb face like nothing happened. If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you are a damn good actor, but that's just how you are, huh, princess?”

Rhys couldn't find words on his mouth. He was very aware of the warmth on his chest at making the CEO impressed. Only spreading by how close they were, personal space completely invaded. Rhys didn't push him away as he normally did, he waited, curious about how far Jack would go.

Pretty fucking far considering he just buried his face against Rhys' neck, right where his hand wasn't covering. His nose brushed softly against the column of skin, raising goosebumps all over and punching the breath out of Rhys' lungs.

“I gotta admit, that gave me the strangest boner ever,” the grin was audibly.

“Jack!” Rhys exclaimed, face heating. He grabbed Jack's arms on instinct, if he got up they would be pressed flush. Rhys could imagine Jack caging him on his desk like he had before many times, always teasing, prodding Rhys. But that was definitely not the current situation.

“Tell me, Rhysie,” his breath was hot, “I don't have a murder kink but I gotta know, did it feel good? Made you all fuzzy inside? Almost jizzed your pants?”

“What? No- Stop fucking with me, Jack.”

“Answer the question, pumpkin,” he mouthed the skin of his neck, not kissing, or biting, it turned Rhys' spine into jelly nonetheless.

“Felt pretty good,” came the admission.

The thumb pressed harder against his pulse, and before Rhys could throw any good sense into the air and goad him into more, he was gone. Jack stepped back with the Devil's smirk as if he had just being there, leaning against the desk all the time. Rhys only knew there was nothing wrong because he knew Jack. He knew, and had no idea how to act.

“I had my doubts about you at first, cupcake, but you really are VP material,” he laughed, “You've been doing such a kickass work on this pit of incompetents I'd promote you if I could. Which, yeah, no can do, but I'm sure there is something else I can give you” Jack's gazed traveled Rhys' body in a way that confirmed the last five minutes hadn't been just a fervent fantasy.

The promise behind his words made the skin on his neck tingle were Jack's lips had been.

“We are going to release the turret sooner by the way. Tomorrow. And we are going out to celebrate that shit drinking Jakob's tears and a lot of alcohol after, babe. Dress something that let me admire your pretty little ass. See ya.”

Babe.

Jack never called him babe. Jack, the asshole who left just like that, leaving Rhys to grab his desk with a tent forming on his pants. His mind an endless loop of hands on his neck and a carefree 'babe'.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was NOT supposed to turn into a dark!Rhys study but it kind of did and I'm not sorry ops  
> wrote it while listening to dangerous woman from ariana grande nonstop, totally worth it

No matter all the tests, seeing the brand new elemental turrets in action stroke Rhys' ego to no end. It was, being humble, fucking awesome. His first big project as VP leaving people gasping and clapping soundly lift his spirits to the clouds.

Sure, it hadn't been easy to coordinate the whole party in such short notice and he was sure the next assassination attempt would come from engineering, but totally worth it. Rhys' smile was a fixed point on his face as he shook executives' hands, basking on the compliments.

He eyed Jack, the CEO was far away, staring at him. They hadn't talked yet and Rhys wished he could read his mind for once.

“That was, without a doubt, one of the most impressive presentations Hyperion has showed in years,” the man's voice brought his attention back. Blake, responsible by Mercenary Relations and Tourism. Rhys laughed and thanked him, ready to part ways but he kept going, “But I need to ask, you inspired yourself in one of the old projects, right?”

'Inspiration' was the Hyperion way of saying 'recycled ideas', but Rhys' posture didn't drop.

“I'm not sure what you mean.”

“I'm just saying it's uncannily familiar with the Vulcan line”, Blake mirrored his expression with fake innocence. The small group around them quieted down, “You probably noticed since, as you said, this whole project came from your hands, right?”

Rhys' fingers twitched. Handling the disapproval of his vice presidency during reunions was one thing, fucks were never given. But that was his night and frankly Rhys was still feeling the power trip of killing the Jakobs assassin, “Vulcan line? Vulcan- Oh,” he raised his eyebrows, “That one discarded by Jack himself? You are funny – Blane, right? – you know my turrets _work_.”

The people laughed, but Rhys wasn't done yet.

“Shit, I'm sorry,” he put his best regretful face, “That project was yours, right? From your manager days? It's alright, not everybody is good at their jobs. I'm sure you are great at... whatever you do now.”

Blake's skeletal face gained some color for a change, and Rhys observed him nod with a sour smile and excuse himself. He could understand why Jack was always an ass to those people sometimes. Speaking of him...

Rhys walked away from the group to the corner where Jack had isolated himself. Most guests knew better than approaching the CEO without an invitation.

“Did you just tell whatshisname to fuck off?” Jack grinned.

“Well, I was a little nicer than that, but, yeah, basically.”

He put an arm around Rhys' shoulder and laughed, “You are full of surprises this week, kitten. Even came dressed prettily like I asked,” Jack shifted his grip to hold Rhys' waist, eyeing his outfit.

“That's what you've been doing over here, admiring my clothes?” he joked.

“More like your ass and a few other things,” Rhys face reddened, “So, how you've been handling those ass lickers?”

“Why don't we go for those drinks you promised and I tell you?” the words came out before thinking.

Jack's eyes visibly darkened though, “Hope someone scrawny like you can handle a little liquor, cupcake.”

They went to the party bar anyway. Obligations with company celebrations and such, not that Rhys cared. The place may be full, but the whole time it felt as if he was alone with Jack. He was starting to get giggly with alcohol and happiness, all emotions from the week converging on that single night.

Jack was cackling on his ear, clapping his back and spilling colorful drink all over the glowing table. Rhys had just finished telling the story about a woman who approached him earlier as an old friend, rambling about how she always knew he was capable and had potential. Rhys had accidentally spilled champagne over her dress like she had done with his coffee when he was still a middle manager. Pettiness knew no ends in Helios.

“I'd do something a little more bloody, maybe make her shed a tear or two but I gotta give to you, Rhysie, you are making an impression out there. Debuting as a VP already fucking with people, that's my boy.”

The compliment made Rhys hide his face behind the cup.

“Now let's talk about those turrets cuz they are a damn wet dream.”

Jack was interrupted by a cocktail set down in front of Rhys. The VP shot the nervous barman a puzzled look and he rushed to explain:

“S-sorry, it's from the, uh, the man over there.”

He pointed to the person sitting a few stools away. Rhys had seen him around before, strong jaw, dark hair and head from the marketing department. He winked when he noticed the attention and Rhys sent a little smile back. But when he turned to take a sip of the drink the glass was empty.

“Jack!”

The man shot him a blank look, toying with the silly, small umbrella cheekily “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

“Seriously? Was this really necessary?”

“You are welcome, I just saved your life from a sloppy fuck and a shitty drink,” he grunted.

“I wasn't gonna-” Rhys sighed, not even turning to look at the man again. He was not his type anyway, “Whatever. At least pay me another.”

The night kept going, with two toasts to Jakobs soon-to-be bankruptcy. It was so nice Rhys thought he should sabotage other companies more often. It just wasn't perfect because of the mysterious drinks appearing with more frequency for him. One from a woman in accounting, an unknown guy, then a girl Rhys saw like two times, and even a board member for fucks sake.

Would be amusing if he could at least enjoy his free alcohol. But he barely ever had the chance to touch it. Jack would drink it, send it back without his permission – because they looked 'sketchy' –, spill it accidentally and, most recently, waved his hand in such a great gesture the glass broke on the ground. He didn't even try to look ashamed.

Rhys jumped, almost losing his balance on the stool and looked back at the person who had bought it that time. The guy was scurrying away with a pale face.

“Jack, what the hell is wrong with you today?”

“My bad,” he said, not hiding the half smile.

Rhys squinted at him, trying to ignore the comfortable heaviness on his body to read his boss properly. He was angry, that was obvious, but not the right kind of angry. Jack didn't throw tantrums, he wreaked havoc and frankly Rhys was starting to prefer the latter.

“What?” Jack asked, “Don't go pouting at me, princess, don't tell me you really were considering fucking that bullymong weirdo?”

He wasn't, “And if I was?”

Jack tensed, it was palpable by how close they were sitting. He lowered his cup, “I just didn't think you'd end your great night quick fucking a nobody. If you are so desperate to spread your legs, spread 'em with standards, honey.”

Rhys intoxicated brain was having a lot of fun with it's lack of boundaries and supplied him with a great theory: Jack's jealous. The simple idea of it was so crazy and ridiculous Rhys almost laughed. Jack didn't get jealous, he never cared about anyone enough for it.

Except he seemed to care quite a lot for him the other night, on his own twisted way. Huh.

After a moment of consideration, Rhys accepted with with a lopsided grin and no small amount of euphoria.

“I mean,” Jack continued, unaware of the great debate happening in Rhys' head, “kinda underwhelming end to an awesome day, don't you think?”

He was right at that, it was an awesome day. Rhys was flying high and fast and didn't feel like stopping. That's why, after playing months of intense gay chicken, he became fed up. No matter how much he would hate himself the next morning and how huge were the chances he misinterpreted it all. Rhys turned his shot glass, liquid burning his throat.

The memory of Jack on his office the last day pushing him.

“How do you think I should end my day then?”

Jack feigned disinterest, “Go home, pass out in your couch, try to not drink yourself to death, maybe. Play some games or whatever a nerd like you do, kid.”

“That's your worst idea by far,” he rolled his eyes and prepared to get up, “If that's all you got I'll go look for the 'bullymong weirdo'.”

Jack gripped his wrist and brought him back before he could go any further. It sent a shiver down his spine.

“I've got a lot more than that, kitten,” he said just loud enough for Rhys to hear.

He took a deep breath and risked putting a hand on Jack's thigh, “Yeah, well, as you said I only spread with standards. Think you got enough for those?”

Rhys had to fight his blush at saying such things, but it was worth it. Jack sent him that unnerving _look_ and it was all worth it. He didn't answer or tried to provoke more, Jack considered him for a second and mused, “Really are full of surprises, babe.”

The world shifted and in a snap of time, they were in Jack's penthouse. Rhys pressed against a wall, trying to take his clothes off and not break the fervent kiss.

Jack's tongue was hot and demanding on his mouth, teeth biting his lower lip with more frequency and harshness than necessary. Rhys felt as if he was everywhere at once, and still he wanted more. A big hand ran down his back, stopping on his ass and giving an appraising grab that shouldn't turn him on so much but- Jack urged his leg up and Rhys raised it a little, confused.

He broke the kiss to ask, but suddenly his weight shifted, making him wrap his legs around Jack's waist to seek balance. Just like that the man had hoisted him up, keeping him on place with the wall and his arms alone. Rhys' cock twitched, sending a hot shot up his spine.

“Fuck, that's hot,” he gasped without thinking. Tongue loose with alcohol.

Jack, strangely quiet the whole time, shot him a mischievous grin before lowering his head once more to toy with Rhys' neck. There was none of the provocation from before, Jack had no reserves in lapping the skin with his tongue, worrying it between his teeth and making Rhys glad he was being held up. There would be so many bruises the next day.

He knew. Jack knew. It made him fucking burn.

At a particular harsh bite, Rhys bucked up. Erection still trapped on slacks rubbing against Jack hard stomach. It was so frustrating and infuriatingly good. Rhys couldn't get enough friction and resigned himself to pushing Jack's shirt off and running his hand on his back. His mouth watered at the feeling of muscles shifting below his fingers.

“Jack,” he called, voice unrecognizable, “Jack.”

Finally, Jack looked at him, whatever kink he had with rawing Rhys' neck would have to wait. That mysterious expression fixed on his face, accompanied with his silence made Rhys' pissed. He couldn't read Jack now for the life of him. He needed a clue, anything, about what was going on his head.

No matter how much that stiffened his cock and turned his guts. Running blind like that was only adding to the madness of everything.

“I need more,” Rhys managed to say, shame and arousal reddening his face.

“Good,” Jack said, tone so husky Rhys thought it was somebody else for a second, “Cuz I didn't even start, babe.”

Jack slammed him against the wall needlessly, Rhys had he impression he knew the blunt pain turned him on more than he liked to admit. Rhys could feel Jack's hard on against his, his imagination making him feel the heat through the layers. That, at least, gave him some of the pressure he was looking for.

Rhys arched his hips, rutting in abandon. The fact that Jack didn't try to mock his desperation was a big cue about how gone he was too. Good. A hand skimmed on his side, rubbing his torso and urging him to keep moving. The fingers caught on the bullet scar – healed thanks to a lot of hypos.

“Later,” Jack whispered against his ear, “When you think you can't walk anymore, I'll make you ride me, Rhysie. Until those long legs are shaking, just so I can see this,” he pressed on the rough tissue, “And remember that security footage.”

“Please,” he gasped, “Don't make my boner weird.”

Jack chuckled against his ear and bit the lobe, adjusting their position so that he could dive his hands into Rhys' pants while holding him up with his thighs. Large fingers wrapped around his ass, spreading his cheeks and Rhys couldn't even care the friction on his dick was gone.

“Do me a favor, and get the lube from my pocket, would' ya, darling?”

Rhys darted to do it, it was a bit difficult on that position and the pockets were tight, but he managed. Something about Jack asking him stuff was way hotter than ordering. Though he needed no instructions when one of Jack's hands let go of his ass and he opened the small package, messily spreading it around.

With no warning, a slick finger slipped into him. It didn't hurt or anything, but Rhys couldn't help the way his breath hitched. Jack was not in a mood to be patient, soon he put another in and the stretch started to show itself. Rhys moved down shamelessly, a startled moan escaping him at the sudden invasion of a third.

“That's it, babe,” Jack purred, “Take it in. You doing so good.”

Rhys tried to control his breathing and relaxed. Jack actually took that one slowly, putting them in and out with evenly until Rhys was gasping every time they came. He had imagined Jack's hands before, how could he not? The CEO had those broad palms and long fingers that would reach nicely into him, and he wasn't wrong. In no time, Rhys was rocking down, fucking himself on the fingers that were starting to hit his prostate with more precision. He couldn't recognize his own sounds.

“God, one day I'll finger fuck you until you come from it,” Jack mused, his own labored breath showing Rhys' wasn't the only one affected, “You look so hot begging for it, Rhysie. I wouldn't even need to touch your cock, would I?”

The younger man whined.

“I bet you've fucked yourself on your fingers thinking about me. Imagining your boss taking you like an animal,” Jack pushed his fingers in a particular hard trust and Rhys cried out, “Why did I take so long to do this?”

No matter how good Jack was with his hands, Rhys didn't want to come from that tonight. He tried to put his thoughts in order, fighting off the heavy fog of arousal on his brain, “You are still... Ah- still taking too long.”

“Of course you are mouthy even in bed,” Jack scoffed.

Rhys was about to be a little shit and point out they weren't in bed when the fingers slipped out and he dreaded he had ruined it all. Jack lowered his legs until they were firmly on the floor again, and he didn't look angry but Rhys couldn't fucking _read_ him.

“What are you waiting for? Those come off,” Jack said, urging his pants down.

He barely had time for relief. Soon he was raised to the previous position again, that time stark naked. The wall was already warm on his back.

“Look at me when I put in, cupcake,” Jack commanded.

Rhys used it to finally see him. The hairstyle ruined, giving place to a disarray of curls falling on his face, something wild and unfamiliar on his features. All because of of Rhys. He turned the most powerful man in the galaxy into a panting, hard mess.

Jack certainly noticed his half smile and answered with the sound of a zipper. Took a bit of a maneuver, but he managed to raise Rhys' legs until he was almost bend in half, using his elbows to hold them open. Rhys never felt so vulnerable before, the erection rubbing between his cheeks. It was thicker than expected, so slick with lube the head caught on the rim sometimes.

“You saw the way people looked at you today, babe?”

“What?” Rhys mumbled.

“All of those boot-lickers thought you wouldn't last a month with me,” he prodded against Rhys' hole, “But here you are, the best Hyperion has to offer. Making they all hot and bothered that a pretty thing like you brought a fucking company down in two years with a snap of your fingers. They were fucking begging for a piece of this.”

Jack entered him.

He slid in with little to no resistance, also with little to no gentleness. Which was just a coincidence if made Rhys' cry louder. He wanted to close his eyes, turn his head around, but he did as was told and maintained contact with Jack. It was so intimate he couldn't tell the difference between shame and lust anymore.

“If I knew you were gonna look like that,” Jack groaned, “I'd have done this much sooner.”

The stretch wasn't subtle, it burned and Rhys would need a few seconds to accommodate if he wanted it to go away. That's why he promptly undulated his hips, signaling to Jack to keep going, please, fuck.

Their faces were so damn close he just needed to bend his neck to seal their lips, breaths mingling. Jack moved, thrusting with enthusiasm, hips hitting against Rhys' ass in obscene slaps. The situation downed on Rhys, of how they must be looking. Fucking against a wall, blushing and groaning, Jack still with his pants on. He felt dirty.

Rhys let out a breathy laugh, “You can go faster.”

Jack let out an honest to God moan and picked the pace up. It hurt Rhys' back and hit all the good spots inside him.

“You know, babe, it's the two of us now,” he grunted, “On the top. Nobody will fucking stop us. We can have the whole damn universe.”

It hit Rhys in that moment that it was not just sex. Between all the pleasure and dizziness he didn't have the strength to lock down all those intrusive thoughts he tried to avoid while with Jack. Rhys didn't try to lie to himself about how Jack looked at him. How Jack talked to him. And about how fucking well they worked together.

Rhys had resigned himself to the path he had taken a long time ago. He was okay with not being a good person to get the power he needed. Now, Jack with him in more ways than one, he had just marked it down. There was no turning back and it was fucking delicious.

His legs were starting to strain with the position and he let his head fall back on an endless stream of moans he couldn't hold anymore. Rhys never had so little self control during sex before, but Jack's cock felt otherworldly inside him, hot and heavy. Coupled with the 'babes' and 'darlings' he was pretty sure he would lose it, his facade long gone.

One of his hands was still anchored on Jack's shoulder, the other had found it's way on the wall and Rhys couldn't hear the 'crack' over their own sounds.

“Jesus,” Jack groaned, fucking into him with ferocity, “You are squirming so prettily on my cock, Rhysie. Shit. You were made to be stuffed, weren't you? Someone should always be fucking you open, wrecking this tight ass of yours.”

Rhys felt his orgasm start building on his lower stomach, he had barely touched his cock. It was all Jack, ramming against his prostate almost violently. Almost painfully. Almost too good. Almost. Almost. Almost.

“And that someone is me, babe. You got that?” A particular hard thrust ripped a sharp keen from Rhys, “Those noises are mine. This cute mouth I'm fucking later is mine. Got it?” Nails dug into his legs, pain making him leak precum, “I'm talking to you.”

“Yes! Yes, I got it,” Rhys sobbed, “I'm yours, asshole,” he tried to push past the pleasure, fighting against the aggressive tension on his muscles to grab Jack's hair and look into his eyes, “And you are mine too.”

Jack tried to laugh, but the sound that came was low and breathless.

They were both close. It didn't take long for Jack's thrusts to be too much and Rhys was coming untouched all over himself. His head hit the wall, neck straining to let out a broken moan that maybe meant Jack, he wasn't sure. Pleasure was exploding on his veins with such intensity his vision blacked out for a moment.

“That's it, babe, come on,” Jack said strained, cock milking him through his orgasm.

When he came back to himself, Rhys noticed his ECHO-eye had turned on, the blue light shinning on Jack's sweaty skin. His robotic arm's grip so stiff on Jack's hair he wondered how the man wasn't complaining about the pain. Rhys would be ashamed of losing control over his fucking cybernetics of all things, if he hadn't tightened around Jack whose thrusts had become erratic. Rhys could do nothing but take it, whining lowly, still overly sensitive.

“Fuck,” Jack cursed, hips stuttering, “God dammit, Rhys. Babe.”

Rhys observed his face as he came, brow furrowed and mouth slack. Jack kept pounding, slamming his hips and riding his orgasm out into him. After a minute he stopped, seated deep inside and resting his forehead against Rhys' shoulder. The VP had no idea how the man was still standing and holding him up at the same time.

That, and the feeling of cum dripping from his ass, clawed it's way through Rhys' exhaustion and made him promise himself there would be a round two.

Jack sighed, a small sound filled with satisfaction and raised himself to look at Rhys again. His mask was pure, unguarded bliss and laziness, it made butterflies flap on his stomach. It was a week full of surprises, but Rhys was still uncertain. He never had to deal with _that_ Jack.

“Did I break you, princess?” the man grinned.

Scratch that, Rhys knew exactly what he was doing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by the way, you guys were so nice, leaving kudos and comments full of so much support you all made me wish this story was longer!! Thank you for everything and I hope you liked it as much as I did, you amazing people <3  
> here is my tumblr in case you wanna talk or have prompts or anything: http://keepburningbitch.tumblr.com/  
> till the next crazy rhack idea, again, thank you :DD


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